


Bien-Aimee

by left_to_write



Series: Paradise is Forever [2]
Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Nostalgia, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-24 23:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4938586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/left_to_write/pseuds/left_to_write
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year has passed since Aimee's tragic death, and both Richard and Camille reflect on that memorable time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is another short piece set a year on from Episode 5 of Series 2. Absolutely no trace of the non-existent Series 3 in this AU.
> 
> I had so enjoyed writing the piece where I imagined different potential romantic endings for several of the TV Episodes, that I wondered if I could take some of the most obvious ones (from the canon) and imagine the storyline(s) one year on now, instead.

 

Richard Poole was pacing up and down early one morning in his little beach house - well, as much pacing as the small shack would allow for.

"Well, what would _you_ do?" he asked his reptilian house guest.

Harry, the resident in question, tilted his head while keeping his gaze fixed on Richard.

"You think I should be brave, don't you?"

It occurred to Richard that if anyone were to witness this exchange between a Detective Inspector from the London Metropolitan Police Force and a green homing lizard, the human would be the more likely of the pair to find himself confined in a small space. Very possibly a padded cell.

He finally seemed to make up his mind. "Okay, but if it all goes pear shaped, it will be your fault."

Inspector Poole was thinking (of course) about his beautiful and clever sidekick, Camille Bordey. Today was the anniversary of the death of her dear childhood friend, Aimee Fredericks, and Richard wanted Camille to know that he remembered and - even more importantly - that he cared.

It hardly seemed believable that a whole year had passed since Aimee's murder, but Richard knew that Camille would be marking the occasion somehow, even if only silently and privately within her own personal thoughts.

 _His_ thoughts turned to Camille - again. How vividly he could recall that day on the beach just after Aimee had been killed, when he had very nearly confessed his feelings for Camille.

 

_"...You know... when you care about someone... uh...sometimes it's hard to... um... be eloquent, you know... about how you feel? Uh... to... to... tell them how much... they mean to you... meant to you... how important they are in your life... and how special."_

 

And then there were the orchids a few days later after he had figured out who had killed the poor girl. Camille had received the bouquet warmly and had told him that she and Dwayne and Fidel were his friends (his only true friends in a very long time, he realised somewhat ruefully). She had undoubtedly been appreciative of his efforts in catching the murderer, but had she also been telling him that her gratitude, respect and friendship were the sum total of her feelings for him?

Some months later, during the night of the hurricane that didn't actually hit Saint Marie, when they had been marooned in the university's meteorology department, there had been a closeness between them and, just for a moment, he'd wondered whether she had been trying to let him know that she had feelings for him, too. But then, thanks to his usual shyness with women to whom he was attracted, the moment had passed and he'd been left wondering, _what if_?

His earlier discovery of her importance to him had nevertheless been subsequently swept under the carpet, but after another whole year of working, laughing and bickering together, their friendship had evolved and deepened further still, and he finally knew that he was in love with her.

So, the question now was: what was he going to do about today? Should he buy her more wild orchids and let her know that he both remembered and cared, or should he simply be extra kind and thoughtful at work?

_Or, dare he do something really radical and tell her how he felt?_

The problem with the latter option, he recalled with no little chagrin, was that the last time he had dared to open his heart - no, more than that, he had bared his very soul - to a woman, he had been painfully and humiliatingly rebuffed.

"Alright, I know it was a hell of a long time ago, but these things run deep," he reminded the lizard.

 _Yes, the first cut is always the deepest,_ he reckoned, as he winced with decades-old pain at the memory of unrequited young love.

Harry continued to look at Richard and tilted his head in the other direction.

"What is it you're trying to tell me? 'Nothing ventured, nothing gained'? 'No pain, no gain'? 'Suffering comes with the territory'?"

Richard harrumphed to himself. "Well, I've certainly had more than my fill of that, thank you very much. Seen in those terms, you could say my life has been very full."

At this point, Harry seemed to get fed up with his housemate's indecision and leanings toward self-pity, and he turned tail abruptly and scampered off.

" _See?_ Even you don't want to be with me for more than five minutes."

All of a sudden, the little green fellow came rushing back, jumped on the dresser in the makeshift living room/bedroom and stared hard at him.

Richard seemed to instinctively understand what Harry was telling him; well, in so far as one can ever discern what a lizard may be attempting to tell a human being.

"Time to stop feeling sorry for myself?" Harry blinked.

Then, Richard suddenly remembered Sergeant Lily Thomson's words (of self-justification) as she was being arrested for the murders of DI Charlie Hulme and James Lavender: "There's a whole world out there, Fidel."

Well, obviously Richard didn't have anything so wicked as literal murder in mind, but it did occur to him that he'd been basically killing time and wasting good opportunities - real opportunities - for happiness, and for the emotional wholeness that had eluded him his entire life.

There was indeed a whole world out there, and it was high time he started to discover it. And so, something inside him snapped and he told himself, 'No more missing out!'

He would no longer be satisfied with just being an ace detective; a phenomenal puzzle solver; even a seriously impressive amateur scientist. No, for once (more) in his life, he would take the bull by the horns and do his level best to get the girl.

Yes, Richard Poole would woo - and win - Camille Bordey.

 

                       <><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

 

Camille was up a little earlier than usual on this particular morning. She'd had a restless night, dreaming about Aimee and about what might have been, if only her friend had confided in her and had shared her problems and struggles, as well as her hopes and ambitions.

Sighing deeply, and with a heavy heart, she showered and dressed for work.

 _I wonder if Richard will remember the date? Well, why should he?_  she pondered.

Camille was pretty sure that he would remember the occasion _,_ if not the actual date of it, but to _her_ , not only was Aimee's demise a critical - albeit tragic - event in Camille's life, but those two days on the beach with Richard were defining moments in their relationship.

As she looked back on it now, a whole year later, and with the benefit of hindsight, Camille suspected that he had been trying to convey something in a way he'd never quite done before with her. Was it her imagination; wishful thinking; or perhaps a distorted recollection of that conversation? Or had Richard Poole, the quintessential reserved Englishman, actually been more or less professing (confessing?) his deep affection for her?

They had bickered and bantered and shared knowing looks for over two years now, and still no declarations of love had been spoken by either one of them, even a full year after those conversations on the beach.

 _Wasn't it about time that changed?_ If nothing else, didn't Aimee's tragic young death demonstrate in no uncertain terms that life is short and ought to be lived to the full?

_Maybe I should be the one to tell him? After all, this is the 21st century, not the Victorian age._

It did occur to Camille, however, that there were certain qualities about Richard that could probably be said to be somewhat reminiscent of a Victorian mindset, but she preferred not to dwell on that just now.

 _But what if he gets all uptight and repressed, and pushes me away? What if rejects me?_ she worried.

Then she had a moment of clarity. _If he rejects me, that will be his loss, not mine._

And the realisation of this gave her the freedom and the courage to face the day with a new determination and a new goal.

Camille Bordey would win Richard Poole.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Camille was about to leave her flat and set off in the Defender to go and surprise Richard early at his beach house, when her mobile phone rang.

"Hello, Sir?"

_"Hi Camille. Um... would you mind if I met you back at the station in a little while, rather than your coming to collect me? I have one or two important things to do first."_

"Well, if it's anything I can help with, I'd be happy to give you a hand. Or if you need a lift somewhere before work, I can drop you anywhere you like - after all, I have got the car."

_"Thanks Camille, but I wouldn't like to put you to any trouble."_

Camille was baffled. What was he up to, and why so courteous and considerate? On any other day he would almost certainly have accepted a lift - quite gratefully - into town or wherever.

"It's no trouble, Sir. I really don't mind."

_She's being remarkably co-operative and generous today of all days. I wonder if something more than Aimee's anniversary is on her mind?_

_"Really Camille, it's very kind of you, but I think I'm better doing this on my own. Thanks for the offer anyway."_

"Oh sure, that's fine... no worries," she replied cheerfully, in spite of being puzzled and more than a little curious about what in the world was going on with her boss.

_"Thanks, Camille; I'll see you shortly, okay?"_

"Okay Sir, see you later."

_"Alright, bye for now... oh, and Camille?"_

"Yes?"

 _"It's 'Richard'."_ And with a barely audible little chuckle, he rang off.

Camille stared at her phone and slowly a little smile of delighted astonishment, followed by a little frown of bewilderment, illuminated her face.

_He seems very chipper today. I wonder what's got into him? And what are these important errands? And, most of all, why the big mystery??_

She was about to be all optimistic about Richard's apparent new-found gallantry, when she was suddenly seized by a panicky thought.

_What if he's met someone else?? But how? Online, perhaps? A new love interest? Oh please God, not that!_

It was the one possibility she hadn't thought of. But why not? Richard Poole may have seemed rather straight laced and fussy at times, but that didn't mean he didn't appreciate or desire women. He was still a man after all, and a surprisingly red-blooded one at that, if her recollections of the 'ogling' incidents were anything to go by.

All the more reason not to waste any time, she told herself. If he _has_ actually met someone else, it may not have got to a serious stage yet, especially if it was only a 'virtual' romance. Also, Camille knew just about everyone on the small island by now, and she simply couldn't really think of anyone it was likely to be on Saint Marie.

Then another alarming scenario came galloping into her head. What if he was so cheerful because he was going back to England??

_Oh no, that would be even worse!_

Short of following him to the UK, the 4000 mile distance seemed just too insurmountable; she was sure she'd never see him again if he went 'home'. The idea filled her with sadness.

_Please no bad news today. Not today, of all days._

And the sadness filled her with tears. Feeling the loss of Aimee on the anniversary of her death was making Camille particularly sensitive this day - hypersensitive, even - and she began to get a little overly emotional.

_Come on, pull yourself together, girl. Where there's a will, there's a way. And you will find a way to this man's heart._

 

Richard, meanwhile, was totally oblivious to poor Camille's agonising. _His_ greatest challenge of the morning was to try and find some (preferably white) wild orchids with which to surprise her. Of course, it could be a bit embarrassing at the station with Dwayne and Fidel there, and the inevitable exchanged glances that would follow.

 _Maybe I should wait until the end of the day? But would I be able to get fresh orchids so late in the day?_  He was not going to let the prospect of the lads' potential reaction(s) bother him too much. At any rate, he would simply play it cool, pretending that the flowers were merely a kind gesture to a (mutual) friend who had suffered a great loss, nothing more meaningful than that.

Anyway, unlike the boys at the Met, these officers wouldn't dare mock him - at least not too blatantly, and probably not to his face. And even if they did, it would be in a spirit of affection and respect, not of derision and scorn.

But, then again, rare and valuable orchids just hanging around all day in the Honore Police Station was neither good for the flowers, nor conducive to romance. Lack of privacy, as everyone knew, was often a major factor in the failure of many a relationship, whether potential, budding, or fully established in nature.

And, with the possible questions that might get asked repeatedly about the flowers - Camille's flowers from _him -_ Richard realised that he would probably end up feeling like he was sharing them with all and sundry; not at all the gesture he had in mind. (And he certainly had no wish to share Camille or their relationship - such as it was - with all and sundry, either).

He decided to go on to Plan B. He would ring for a taxi to take him to the florist's, get the orchids, make one little enquiry at another shop while the driver continued to wait, and then bring the flowers back to the bungalow and put them in water while, again, the taxi driver waited for him. Finally, he would ride back in the cab to the Honore station.

Clearly, this was going to be an expensive morning, but Camille was worth it to him.

 _Let's just hope she's willing to come back to the house after work this evening._ He would keep his fingers crossed - not that he was superstitious, of course.

 

The taxi was nice and prompt and Richard got into it with a cheerful sense of purpose. Fortunately for him, although the driver recognised him (after all, how many white English detectives in suit and tie were there on the island?), he was discreet and didn't ask nosy questions as to who the flowers were for, or why Richard wanted to make a different stop after the florist's either.

Having done his little 'errands' in town, Richard then hopped back into the taxi and they drove on steadily but quite quickly to his little beach house. After placing the gorgeous bouquet in a suitable vase as carefully, but speedily, as he could, his driver finally took him to the Police Station to begin his day at work.

The whole performance was accomplished in under an hour, with the result that the 'Chief' was only about 25 minutes later arriving for work than he ordinarily would be. All he had to do now was to act 'normal' and hope that Camille would accept his invitation for that evening.

At about midday, both Dwayne and Fidel left the station for an hour or so, one to go and get something for his lunch, the other to do a follow-up on a witness statement for a very minor situation - no Detective needed for it. Richard saw his chance and decided to grab it.

"Um... Camille... I just wanted to say that I realise it's been exactly a year to the day that you lost your friend, and... um... well, I was wondering if you'd like to... er... mark the occasion... um... with me... somehow? Or not??"

_Oh dear, not a terrific start._

"Oh! Thank you, Sir... I mean Richard. Um... that's really sweet of you but... I've sort of got..."

Richard jumped straight in to interject in order to avoid the rejection that he felt sure was coming. "Oh don't worry, it's no big deal," he said, trying to sound nonchalant and not defensive.

Camille frowned. _No big deal? The anniversary of Aimee's murder? Thanks a lot._

She tried not to bristle, so she took a deep breath. _Maybe he didn't mean it that way._ Making up her mind to give him the benefit of the doubt, she continued to explain herself before she'd been interrupted.

"No, I was just going to say that I've been invited to her parents' house for a little memorial celebration of her life, starting this evening and carrying on tomorrow as well. Her family were grieving so hard last year, as you may remember, that they felt they hadn't really done it properly at the time. They've invited close friends and family, some of whom will stay the whole weekend since they'll have flown in from other islands or wherever.

"I was going to go there later after work, stay overnight, and then the 'party' is tomorrow."

Richard felt chagrined. He was annoyed with himself for being so foolish as to make his plans on the assumption that she would be free; that the only possible reason she would say 'no' was because she didn't want anything to do with him romantically. On the other hand, he had now got a bunch of very expensive orchids sitting in water back home, waiting for a lady who wouldn't be turning up to see them.

 _Maybe I should have just_ _brought them to the station and braved the boys' stares._ _Blast!_

_Is it my imagination, or does he look disappointed? Yeah, chance will be a fine thing. Then again...._

Taking her courage in her hands, Camille asked, "Richard..."

He looked at her with a kind of hidden longing in his eyes, which emboldened her.

"Why don't you join me? I know they'd be delighted to see you, too. They always said that they were eternally grateful to you for solving the case, and that as far as they were concerned, you would always be welcome. It's also a way of having a little part of Aimee."

Richard was stunned. "But... wouldn't seeing me just rake it all up for them? I mean, I know it's a memorial for her, but it's going to be a celebration of her _life_ , isn't it? Mightn't seeing me only remind them of her... ahem... murder?"

"No, Richard. Nothing anyone could say or do will bring Aimee back, so the next best thing to them was to catch whoever took her from them and make sure that person was held accountable and punished for it. That was the only thing that could give them closure, and you did that for them. I doubt if anyone else could have."

"Oh! Right." _For_   _pity's sake, can't you come up with anything better than that, Poole?_

"So..." Camille hesitated. "Will you consider coming with me, then?"

Richard's heart began to thump. _Don't blow it now._ He shrugged and spoke as evenly as he could manage, "Well... uh... okay... um... yes, that would be very nice. If you're sure. Thanks."

Camille's heart skipped a beat at this point, as well. Composing herself outwardly, she said, "That's great... uh... what time could you be ready...? I could collect you at your house at 7:00 ish, if that suits? I'll be in a taxi so the Defender can stay at the station in case Dwayne needs it for official business, but it's not a long journey."

"Uh... yeah, that sounds good. Um... yes... 7:00 is fine." Richard hoped he wasn't starting to stutter.

 _And_ _I'll be able to give her those flowers after all._

Camille beamed at him. "Great, see you then." _And maybe even_   _for_ _the whole night......._

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Richard was excited. Camille was about to turn up at any minute and he would be going to a  - well, he wasn't sure he could call it a 'party', given the circumstances, but at any rate, it was a social occasion - kind of get-together with her. In different circumstances, he might have even dared regard it as a 'date', but that would be going a bit too far on this occasion.

He had meticulously packed his overnight bag, complete with striped pyjamas (!), and the usual toiletries and change of clothes for the next day. Harry had watched him with what Richard was sure was a smirk on his face, but Richard didn't care.

"Well, you can smile all you want; _I'm_ the one going out with a beautiful woman. I don't see _you_ with a pretty young thing, so there."

Harry strode off in what looked to Richard like a reptilian huff.

_Dear God, I'm competing with a lizard. Has my love life (or lack of it) really come to that?!_

Just then, he heard a car pull up outside the shack and Camille was stepping onto the veranda. She looked radiant that evening - no black for mourning, this was to be a happy occasion - ethereally lovely in a cream outfit and tasteful jewellery. He wondered where his head had been these last two to three years.

_How could I not have seen the wood for the trees? The love of my life has been hiding in plain sight._

"Are you ready, Richard?" Her smile was dazzling and infectious, and her eyes alit upon the little overnight bag.

He blushed when he saw her looking at it; but she said nothing embarrassing, just simply nodded.

"Yes, that's a good idea. Mine's in the boot of the taxi. It will almost certainly run on too late for you to try and get back tonight, and if I know Uncle Walter and Aunt Dorothy, the rum will be flowing as well. I hope you like Pina Coladas."

"'Uncle Walter and Aunt Dorothy'?" he asked.

"Yes, Aimee and I were so close, that's what I used to call her parents. I still do, to this day."

Richard smiled a little wistfully, feeling a faint twinge of envy at what must have been a reasonably emotionally happy childhood for Camille, in spite of the loss of her father early on. He found himself wishing that there had been similar experiences of closeness in his own childhood, whether on account of family or just good friends.

"Um... I know the taxi's waiting, but before we go, Camille, I.... um... have a little something... I... wanted to give you today, to mark the... er, occasion. If that's alright," he said, a tad nervously.

Camille's eyes lit up; she raised her eyebrows and smiled up at him expectantly.

"Ooh, what is it?!"

"Uh... oh dear... um... I tell you what: close your eyes and I'll bring it out to you," he answered.

_I just hope I've got this right._

Camille squeezed her eyes shut and waited like a slightly impatient schoolgirl while Richard went and fetched the splendid bouquet, albeit dripping wet at the bottom.

"Okay, open your eyes."

She let out a squeal of delight; not because it was particularly original, considering that he had given her the same the previous year, but because this year she dared to hope it was a more significant gesture. She dared to believe that Richard Poole might have  _feelings_ for her.

"Oh Richard, they're gorgeous! Just like last year - thank you so much!" With that, she leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek, for which he blushed with pleasure (and relief).

"And thank you for remembering the date, too. Come to think of it, how _did_ you remember the actual date?"

Richard continued to look a bit shy. "Do you mind if we save that for another time?" he replied, somewhat enigmatically. "I expect the driver will be getting a little impatient?"

Camille wondered what on earth he meant by his first comment. _He's being very mysterious today_.

Trying to decide whether to take the orchids with her, or leave them at Richard's to collect the following day, she decided to bring them along for sentimental reasons. If the man she loved had gone to the trouble and expense of a gesture like that - for the second year running - she wanted to savour every moment of it.

Tearing off a bit of kitchen paper, she wrapped it around the stems before they climbed into the car. Richard's small case went into the boot; Camille's bouquet remained resolutely in her arms. At one point, he caught sight of her holding them rather like a mother would hold a baby, smiling down apparently lovingly at them. It made his heart leap and his tummy flip.

 

It was only ten minutes later when they arrived at the Fredericks' home. The reunion was well underway, most of the relatives and friends having already arrived.

Mrs Frederick greeted Camille at the door with a big hug. "Camille, sweetheart! Thank you so much for coming. Oh, and you shouldn't have," she squealed, taking the flowers from Camille's hands. Clearly, 'Aunt Dorothy' had assumed they were for her - or at least for the family - not an unreasonable assumption given the situation.

Richard let out a quiet "oh" of protest, but stifled the rest of it. It wouldn't do to make a scene, and Camille would understand. Anyway, it had been _her_ idea to bring them.

Camille looked startled and perhaps slightly stricken for a moment, but quickly recovered. She looked at Richard with a mixture of shock, sadness and regret, but he smiled understandingly with his eyes.

Aimee's mother caught the exchange between them, but mistook it for Camille's desire to introduce Richard.

"Hello, you must be Camille's young man? Walter, come here! Camille's arrived with her young man; isn't it wonderful?" cried Dorothy.

Fortunately, the background noise from all the chatting in their house masked the splutters from both Richard and Camille. Flattering though it was to be called 'young' (to people only half a generation older), he was uncomfortable being referred to as Camille's boyfriend. More than that, he worried that she might be so horrified at the misnomer that it would repel her and put her off him altogether.

"No, Aunt Dorothy, this is Richard Poole, my boss - and friend - of course. Remember I asked if it was alright to invite him?" Camille reminded her.

"Oh, of course," replied Aimee's mother. "So sorry about that; I'm afraid I didn't recognise you properly from last year. How wonderful of you to come, Inspector Poole. I'm sure you know how extremely grateful we were for all your efforts, even if we didn't thank you properly at the time. I'm Dorothy."

Richard smiled. "Oh, goodness me, there was no need. You had an awful lot on your plate. And please, call me 'Richard'," he insisted, shaking her hand. 

Just then, Walter Fredericks appeared and said, "Hello Camille, my dear. How are you? So good of you to come. Everyone's here now, so please go inside and make yourself at home, and introduce your young man to everyone. I'm sure you'll recognise most of them."

"No, Walter dear, I just made that same mistake. This gentleman isn't Camille's boyfriend, he's Inspector Richard Poole, who solved the case. Well, they are friends, of course, just not... oh dear... sorry..." Dorothy was getting flustered and beginning to tie herself up in knots.

Richard was slowly turning magenta, but he gamely extended his hand to Aimee's father as well. "Hello Mr Fredericks, thank you for inviting me. I'm sorry it had to be in such circumstances, of course."

Walter shrugged. "Well, you brought us closure; it was the best we could have hoped for, and we really appreciated that. Please, make yourselves at home, like Dorothy said."

Dorothy, meanwhile, had taken the orchids off into the house and was announcing to everyone, "Camille is here - and look what beautiful flowers she's brought!", and there was much oohing and aahing and gasping with approval by their guests.

Camille looked helplessly at Richard, but he leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Don't worry, I'll buy you some more when we get back."

The alchemy of those words, the whispering (which felt very intimate), and his piercing green eyes, made her go weak at the knees. And, realising that he didn't particularly enjoy 'mingling', especially if he was going to be 'on show' in some way, she hoped to steer him onto the veranda of the Fredericks' house once the necessary introductions were complete.

Again, nearly everyone seemed to assume that they were an 'item', in spite of Camille's introducing Richard as her boss, the detective who had solved the case.

Of course, people made that assumption because their body language, the glow on their faces, and the unconscious way they looked at each other gave away what even _they_ hadn't quite realised:

They looked utterly perfect as a couple.

 

Taking their drinks onto the veranda, they sat and gazed up at the brilliant Caribbean sky. There were innumerable twinkling stars, and this added to the atmosphere of languidness and romance.

Camille sighed. "Did you ever see that film, 'The Lion King', where Simba the lion cub looks up at the stars and thinks he can recognise his father amongst them?" she asked wistfully.

Richard turned to look at her. Her eyes were bright, partly with tears and partly from the effect of living in the moment - a moment of blossoming intimacy.

"I... uh... didn't actually see the film, but I was aware of it, of course. Very poignant, by all accounts," he replied gently.

"That lion had been murdered, too," said Camille sadly.

"I know," Richard said softly.

"Do you think Aimee could be up there?" Camille looked at him.

"Maybe," he whispered, "who knows?"

"I've missed her," confessed Camille.

"Of course you have," agreed Richard. "You know, I feel slightly envious of people who have such... close... relationships. It's not something that I... well, you know the story," he shrugged.

"Do you miss intimacy, Richard?"

Richard blushed a little and looked down. The directness of her question caught him more than a little off-guard, but in the current atmosphere, he didn't seem to mind too much. He knew that if he were going to stand a chance with this beautiful and emotional woman, he would have to overcome his natural inclination to repress his feelings.

"That's a difficult question to answer. The obvious answer would be 'yes', but that almost implies I've experienced a lot of it, whereas there hasn't been terribly much, to be honest. Not within my family, and not really in relationships, at least nothing that... worked out.

"But yes, it would be nice to feel there was at least one special person, whether close friend or... um... more. I suppose I'm probably not an easy person to get close to, though." The drink, the stars and the ambience were opening him up.

"I've never heard you talk that way before." Then pressing on gently, she wanted to see how deep she could get in. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"I thought you'd already done that," he replied, but there was a twinkle in his eyes as he spoke.

Camille persevered. "How did you really remember the date of Aimee's death?"

"Ah. I discovered the receipt I'd saved for the flowers, and... calculated back the right number of days," he confessed. _Please don't let her think I'm too soppy, or I'll never live it down._

 She inhaled deeply. "Oh Richard, that is so..." Her voice tailed off.

"Please don't say 'sweet'," he pleaded with a faux pained expression.

"But it _is_ ," she whispered. "Can I ask another question?" she ventured.

"What, another one? Crikey, Camille, don't you think you've exhausted your quota by now?" Another twinkle.

"What was it you had to do this morning that was so important, apart from buying the flowers? You said 'one or two' things?"

"Dear me, do women always pry so much?" he asked in mock indignation, but his eyes were still smiling. "Wait till we get back."

Camille had to be satisfied with that because Richard would not be budged any further. They spent the rest of their time at the Fredericks' home entering into the spirit of remembering Aimee and celebrating her short life with the family.

 

It was one week later that Richard received a call from the jewellers to say that his order was ready for collection.

"Camille, are you free this evening?" he asked her the next morning when they had a spare moment to themselves.

"Yes?" _Ooh, I've been waiting for this. I hope it's not just about work, though...._

"Well... there's something I'd like to show you, if that's alright..." Richard told her.

That evening, when Camille had arrived at the shack, he handed her a dainty little oblong box.

"You know I said I'd buy you more orchids? I'm sorry I haven't got round to it yet, but would this do for now?"

Intrigued, she undid the ribbon around the box and opened it. Then she gasped, because inside was a delicate orchid-shaped brooch in gold, encrusted with tiny twinkling diamonds on the edge of the petals.

She looked up at him. "Oh my God, Richard. It's... exquisite." Her voice began to crack and her eyes were moist. "Thank you so much," she whispered.

Richard smiled. "You're very welcome."

"In memory of Aimee?"

"Partly. You know, I looked up the meaning of her name in French."

"Yes, it means 'loved'," replied Camille, somewhat breathlessly.

"Mm hmm. And 'bien-aime(e)' means 'beloved', doesn't it? Have a look at the inscription on the stem."

Camille gasped again. There, in tiny clear letters were engraved the words, 'Bien-aimee'.

"Oh, Richard, Aimee would love this!" Camille was close to tears now.

"I'm glad you approve," he replied softly, "but it's not really about her. Here, let me put it on you?" And he tenderly fastened it to her blouse with hands trembling.

Stepping out onto the veranda, they held hands and watched the waves crash onto the sand. Camille took his face in her hands and planted a kiss on his lips.

"I love being in your little house by the sea. And I love you, Richard Poole."

He sighed. "Oh Camille, 'bien-aimee' is what you are to me." And he pulled her in even closer.

 


End file.
